


That Handsome Lamplighter

by Donsular



Category: Mary Poppins (Movies)
Genre: 1933, Angst, But not like that I swear, Daydreaming, F/M, It makes more sense inside, Not that kind!, Pre Mary Poppins Returns, Technically Jack/Ellen, This is weird, fantasies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:29:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25356274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donsular/pseuds/Donsular
Summary: Ellen’s been working at Cherry Tree Lane for about 60 years and never had time for much else. But when a new arrival makes their way to the quiet little lane, she’s reminded of everything she missed out on.
Relationships: Jane Banks/Jack
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	That Handsome Lamplighter

**Author's Note:**

> I found it kinda funny that Ellen refers to Jack as ‘that handsome lamplighter’, and it definitely sounds like she’s been calling him that for a while.

Ellen wasn’t lonely. She had a family to love, (and she did love them) even though they weren’t exactly related. She was well aware that her age was catching up to her but she was equally aware that Michael had grown rather fond of her over the years and didn’t really see it as an option that he could replace her at any given moment. She’d been working in that house since before he was born. And of course, the children loved her. When Michael and Jane grew up, she had been quite sad to see them go. She missed the chaos of having children around, even though she usually had to bear the brunt of their shenanigans. Maybe that’s why she loved the new generation so much. They brought the same amount of chaos, but not even half of the trouble.

Then there were her actual blood relatives. Obviously, there weren’t as many left as when she was younger, but that didn’t mean she was lonely. She still had her sister, and they got together whenever they could. And of course, there was her sister’s husband, their children, the children’s partners and their own kids too. There were plenty of people near and far: first, second and third cousins with various numbers of times being removed, more than enough nieces, nephews, in-laws and so on. She even still had her uncle, who was nearing 100.

But despite this, there was one thing that she never had, but had always thought she should get: a husband. Now, it should be stated right off the bat, that by now, Ellen was 74. A bit to old to go looking for love, in her opinion. An opinion that she had held ever since she turned 50. And anyway, its not like she needed it. She’d had plenty of experience with men in her youth, and since becoming a housekeeper, she’d had more than her fair share of family life. She’d basically done the whole settling-down-and-starting-a-family thing, just without actually marrying or having a family. Or even settling down, for that matter. She still worked hard almost every God-given hour. But that’s not the point.

The point is, that every single girl, no matter her age, has every right to dream about her ideal man. And even at her age, Ellen was no exception to this rule. She’s be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about it many times. And even as she grew older, her image of the perfect man didn’t really change. The most that she ever changed was when she adjusted the age every now and then. She didn’t really think it appropriate to want to fall in love with someone half her age.

As a result, there were a few renditions of her ‘ideal man’ over the years. And she saved every one in a folder in her bedside table. Oh yes, she had pictures! They were just photos of past partners, actors, writers, musicians and other celebrities she liked. And to be fair, it was quite a small collection made up of only 8 photos, but they quickly proved to her that she had a type. They had been perfect to pick and choose her favourite features of each man and put them together into a drawing. She was by no means an artist, but she could do a pretty good face if it was turned 45 degrees to the left. And as a result, she could piece together her perfect guy pretty accurately: tall, dark hair, deep mysterious eyes, and as little facial hair as possible. There was never a specific name that came to mind, but it added to the mystery. She’d always been adventurous in her youth, and if she knew a man who could bring her that same thrill at her age, it would be perfect.  
Of course, though, this was all imagination. Nobody knew anything about her little fantasy, and that’s the way it would stay. She laughed at the idea of such a thing ever coming true. But with the Banks family, there is no such thing as impossible. There never was. Even if you weren’t related. Even if a certain magical nanny hadn’t arrived to teach everyone that lesson yet.

She’d only gone out that morning to fetch the newspaper after the paper boy passed. It was the middle of October, which meant she could watch the sunrise when she got up for work. She was always up at half six to prepare for everyone else to wake up, and it was the only time of the day that she was guaranteed to have total piece and quiet all to herself. And with it being Saturday, she would have that bit longer while everyone else had a lie in.

Ellen took a moment to read the front page. It looked like there’d been an explosion at a fireworks factory somewhere in India. It wasn’t anything too shocking. Of all the places imaginable, a fireworks factory did seem the most likely to go ‘bang’. She tried to pronounce the place, but it didn’t take much to make her give up her attempt at saying Visakhapatnam out loud. In fact, all it took was the sound of a bicycle.

It wouldn’t have been a surprise on any other day. Afterall, they’d had the same lamplighter coming down the street for years. An older man called Owen Something-Or-Other. But he’d been gone for a little while and a new guy had been covering the route. It seemed his age had caught up to him and he couldn’t handle such a physically demanding job anymore. He’d finally retired, and the new guy had taken over until they could get a permanent replacement. And with the state of unemployment those days, she knew it wouldn’t be long before they got someone new. Still, she hadn’t been prepared for it to be that day. And she hadn’t expected him to look like that!

“Cor blimey…” The words were barely above a whisper, and a good thing too, as he hadn’t noticed her standing there.

If Ellen had her drawings with her, she would’ve seen he was a near identical match. His sleek black hair peeked out from beneath a flat cap, and his deep brown eyes were everything she’d ever hoped to see. He didn’t look particularly tall, but he was definitely taller than her, which was good enough. The guy was even clean shaven! It couldn’t get much better than that. She carefully watched from the porch as he set up his ladder, climbed up the post and turned down the lamp. Then he was packing it away and cycling off again. The whole process only took a minute or so, but it was long enough for Ellen to become completely fascinated with him.  
Not a day went by where she didn’t watch him passing every morning and evening. She had actually sneakily held up one of her drawings while she looked to compare the two. It was almost scarily similar. Maybe she’d seen him before while she was out and had unconsciously made him her muse.

But he fit with every fantasy she had. In her shock at seeing him the first time, she never noticed his injuries, but the later on, she definitely did. He had a slight limp and a rather nasty bruise along his cheekbone that looked suspiciously fist sized, along with several cuts and grazes. That’s all she needed to see to decide he was definitely the delinquent type.

He never looked too happy. He seemed very unsure of himself, which she put down to it being a new job. And his lack of a smile was probably due to whatever issues he’d had with work before he got the job. She couldn’t imagine it would be the first choice for someone like him. Still, she would sometimes disregard these logical explanations to play with the fantasy that he was a tough guy with a cold exterior to hide the mysteries within. But as the wounds healed, and time passed, he grew much more confident, smiled, and started to reveal his true colours.

She’d be lying if she said her heart hadn’t skipped a beat the first time she heard him whistling as he cycled by. It was a merry little tune that she’d never heard before, but it was one she gradually associated with him. And it seemed his tune didn’t just catch her attention, as she soon noticed him looking up to the house and waving. It took quite a while for her to realise he was waving to the children. A charming note that made him even more endearing, and made her decide he was more like a loveable rogue than just a plain old troublemaker.

The dark-haired lamplighter became the centre of her focus for several weeks. The children’s too. It seemed Michael was the only one who hadn’t caught the bug. He was proving to be quite friendly, having become friends with the milkman, and the kids seemed excited that he was paying them any attention. He would often say ‘hi’ or wave to them while he worked, which was a much-needed breath of fresh air, as Old Owen was a rather miserable old sod and actually got angry at them a few times for ‘being a distraction’. Which was a load of rubbish as his job wasn’t exactly the most complicated, they hadn’t been shouting or harassing him and there was a window between them, blocking what noise they did make. So, all in all, it seemed the whole street was growing to like this new man.

But while the whole street got caught up with Leerie Fever, Ellen realised something. She’d become a little too obsessed with him. He was handsome, friendly, mysterious, and looked like the adventurous type. But he was young. He was by no means a baby, but to her, he was so young. Too young. He must’ve been somewhere in his thirties, which put her at being around 40 years older than him. And that was way too much of a gap. The realisation hit a little harder than she first thought it would, and hurt a bit more than she’d ever care to admit. She never considered finding love or getting married at her age. But seeing what she could’ve had if she was born at a different time was a little painful. And it wasn’t like she’d be able to see him forever and have him as her not-really-husband, like her not-really-family. He’d probably only stay there for a few years, maybe until the end of the slump, and then he’d be off on his way to something else, and she’d never see him again. She had to move on. He was just a lamplighter. She was getting too excited. She’d have to forget about him.

Days turned to weeks which turned to months and he was still there. It was a little easier to ignore him as the sunrise came later through the winter months, and she was less likely to see him when she collected the paper. Then she just had to stay inside and ignore the fact she could go out and meet him whenever she chose. Because she never met him. Not really. She couldn’t. If she did, she’d make things awkward and wouldn’t be able to move on. God! Since when did she act so much like a pining teenager. It was ridiculous!

But soon enough, the excitement died down. He still waved to the children and whistled and had a chat with the milkman, but it all became normal. It was nothing new to talk about so everyone stopped talking about it, and soon enough, he faded to the background. But she didn’t forget about him. That wasn’t really possible. Not when she still had her drawings tucked away in her room, reminding her of what she always wanted when she was young.

What she still wanted.

Because no matter how hard she denied, she did want that. She had her substitutes: children in her care, a family to be a part of, the man that would have been most ideal standing just outside. She was so close to having what she wanted, but couldn’t get to the real thing. As if she was in a glass box and the key to get out was right outside. She was so close, so painfully close. She could see exactly what she wanted but no matter what she did, she couldn’t have it. It was too late for her. Her chance was gone.

She burnt the drawings. She couldn’t bear to be so near to her dream and not be able to grasp it, so she pushed herself further away again. It was the only way she could bear to stay. She changed her dreams. She didn’t want a man like him anymore, and she didn’t want a family like the Banks. She told herself over and over and over again. She wanted different things. She wasn’t actually anywhere near her dreams. It was fine. There was nothing to get frustrated about. Everything was fine. And she definitely wasn’t lying about that. She definitely didn’t ever get upset about it and wonder why she had been so determined to work as a young woman, why she never considered her future, why she never considered anything else. She had worked the same job in the same house with the same family for 60 years and never done anything else with her life. So content to prove that a women could work hard and do just as much as the men. So convinced she would go further if she just stayed where she was and waited for the opportunity to find her. When Winifred became a suffragette, she thought it might happen. When Mary Poppins first arrived, she thought it might happen. But time passed and everyone got on with their lives. She was just the housekeeper. They weren’t interested in her. They wouldn’t be the ones to bring her such opportunities. She needed to go find them herself.

If only someone had told her that when she still had time.

And just when she thought she was done with it all, Mary arrived for the second time and threw everything on its head. Maybe, just maybe, she’d bring an opportunity with her this time. Maybe this would be her chance. But that’s not what she saw when she looked through the keyhole.

“Jane’s chatting with that handsome lamplighter.”

Yet again, she waited too long.

**Author's Note:**

> Not gonna lie, this was supposed to be a funny little story, but it took a turn and honestly, I’m not even mad.


End file.
